Wonderless
by EpicNinjaSushi
Summary: Matthew is kind of a pessimist, Gilbert is kind of a jerk, and they both kind of hate each other. And to make matters worse, those idiots that they call friends decide to try and hook them up.


It was approximately two o'clock in the morning, and Gilbert sat atop his roof, staring up at the grey clouds and the moon struggling to shine through.

It was a nice night, even if it was a little wet. In fact, he appreciated the rain; it was a nice change to the ever-dreaded annual dryness of summertime- Gilbert's least favorite season.

Sure, the whole letting-your-brain-rot-for-three-months was amazing, but his pale skin did not appreciate the burning sun attacking it everyday. He burned horribly, and quickly, too. When he did venture into the outdoors, usually after listening Francis's and Antonio's pleas for God knows how long, he would be forced to don long pants, wear sweatshirts (with the hood up, because his head was sensitive, too), and smear the highest SPF sunscreen he could find over every place not covered already.

His friends never said anything, but the rest of the world treated him like a freak. He honestly didn't blame them... bright red eyes were never exactly a normal thing, even for this exceptionally insane city of theirs, the place where he had lived with his father and brother for five less than the sixteen years of his life. Before that, it was Germany, and from what memories he could remember, he'd pick Deutshland over this small, indescribably boring town any day.

A flash of white, and a deep rumbling sound came from overhead. Gilbert sighed, and crawled over to the edge. He dropped down, gripping the rooftop tightly, and quietly as possible, lowered himself down to his open window and swung himself inside the unlit room. He landed on his bead, making the springs in the mattress creak under his weight. Gilbert sat there, unmoving, waiting for a good excuse to get to sleep.

The sharp crack of thunder was a good excuse as any, especially because he couldn't sit awake knowing he'd just "eeped" at something so common in nature. July being ever too hot for sheets of any kind, he simply let his head fall onto his pillow and waited until a dreamless sleep overtook him.

* * *

Matthew's therapy session had been... less than enjoyable.

It wasn't really the therapy itself that he so detested, but rather, the retard he had to see every other Friday who dared call himself a doctor. Edmund Hartwell would be a dead man if not for the fact the Matthew had to attend therapy in order to keep playing hockey.

The hellish experience had gone something like this:

"So, Williams, I trust you've been taking your medication properly." Hartwell said from the other side of the large wooden desk at which he and Matthew were sitting.

"Yes, sir."

"You're going to have to speak louder than that, son. These ears ain't old yet, I don't wanna wear them out tryin' to hear ya!" The man chuckled heartily at his own joke.

"Yes." he repeated with more volume, through gritted teeth.

"So, how have you been feeling?" He said, interlacing his fingers and looking straight at Matthew, who looked at his lap to avoid any awkward eye-contact.

"Well, I think that the meds might be changing my sleeping patterns, so-"

"Ha! Changing your sleeping patterns! Listen, it didn't list that as one of the side-effects on the bottle, did it?"

"Well, I actually can't remem-"

"You can't remember, can ya? Listen, son, I've got years of experience."

Matthew, despite himself, nodded.

"I _know_ what I'm doing." Hartwell added, for good measure.

Of course he did.

"I've got dozens of patients using the exact same stuff as you, and haven't heard a single negative comment out of any of 'em."

This continued for another hour, until the clock had the decency to turn to five-thirty and he was released. He thought that this whole thing was supposed to make him feel _better,_ not worse. As if his actual anxiety disorder wasn't bad enough.

When Alfred picked him up in the car they shared, half and hour late, as usual, he had calmed down enough to actually have a decent conversation with his step-brother about video games he didn't really care about.

And when he got home, he went straight to sleep.

When he woke up the next day, it was four o'clock in the morning.

"Side effects on the bottle, my ass." he mumbled as he tried to fall back asleep to the sound of the rain outside.

* * *

Gilbert's iPhone had been practically molested by the constant texts from Francis and Antonio, who were desperately trying to get him outside. He hadn't been out in the daylight for nearly a week now, and he'd stopped checking his inbox once he realized every message consisted of some sort of bribe to get him to hang out with them.

"I guess I really am just that awesome." he mused to himself, as his phone vibrated again, signaling more spam. He hadn't used a ringtone since Lutz had discovered they were all the most sexually inappropriate German songs Gilbert could download. _That _had been a good day. Consequential, yes, but in the end, fucking _hilarious_.

He decided he might as well check the messages. Not like he had anything better to do.

Amidst the spamming, there were a few invitations to go to the park downtown. About seven from Antonio, and twelve from Francis, because he'd forgotten to mention his cousin was coming.

And as much as Gilbert _knew _that he'd somehow regret this (this was the Bad Touch Trio, after all) he decided to suck it up, go through the obnoxious procedure of getting dressed and lathering on the sunscreen, and walk down to meet them.

"Luddy, Vater, I'm goin' out!" he called behind him as he stepped out the door and into the paralyzing heat. He lived only a few blocks away from the park, so he as walking. That, and it would be a very bad decision to even _touch _his brother's keys, much less use them to drive his car.

"_Schieße, _its hot. And I had to wear black today, didn't I?" he said to himself as he rounded the corner.

* * *

Matthew had no idea why he had let Francis drag him out to the park.

Scratch that, he had no idea why he'd even let Francis come in the house. His cousin, as much as he appreciated him, was... well, he was Francis, and there was no better word to describe it. His first words coming in the door were: "_Salut, _Matthew! I'm taking you to he park to find you a hot date, okay?"

Matthew barely had time to put a shirt on before Francis came barging in.

"Hey, Francis. What are you doing here?" He said, trying to sound like his cousin's entrance hadn't surprised him.

"Like I said, I'm going to take you to the park to get you a girlfriend. Wait, you do swing that way, right?"

"What?!" Matthew's blush deepened to a noticeably darker shade of red. "Of course I do, Francis!" Which was a lie, because sexuality was something he tried very hard to never think about. Being unsure of his own, and all.

"Just checking." he said, dragging Matthew out the door and pushing him towards the passenger seat in his rather expensive looking car; a Porsche Panamera.

"Is it even legal for you to drive me?"

"I think so?" Francis replied, turning the key. He looked at Matthew for a bit, taking in his appearance, wrinkling his nose as he did so. "Matthew, why do you always insist on wearing those horrible sweatshirts? They make you look like a crazy person, you know."

Matthew racked his brain for a reply. "I'm sure someone else there will be wearing one, right?"

"Well yes; Gilbert, but he has an excuse."

"Gilbert's coming?!" Matthew whisper-shrieked, causing the couple walking on the sidewalk beside them to stare.

Francis continued to drum his fingers in the steering wheel like nothing had happened. "Of course. You don't think I'd let him rot in his room all summer, do you? C'mon, you know I have a little heart."

Matthew didn't answer. Gilbert? There was only _one _Gilbert Francis could possibly know, and unfortunately, it was Gilbert Beilschmidt. The only person Matthew had ever managed to hate with a passion. He was loud, obnoxious, rude, and quite frankly, he was a jerk. Gilbert had a sort of goal, it seemed, to insult everyone else on Earth at least once, and praise himself twice for every time he did so. Matthew seemed to be a target. Every time Gilbert saw him, it would go something like this: "Hey, Birdie!" followed by Gilbert inflicting some sort of physical pain to the Canadian. For a skinny albino, that kid sure knew how to hurt someone.

He wasn't really a bully, he was just... unpleasant. Insanely, severely unpleasant.

Francis pulled his car into a parking-lot nearby their destination, occupying two spots on purpose, taking extra precautions so "Nobody will get so much as a scratch on mon chér." as he has said to Matthew while he locked it.

"Yeah." he'd mumbled in response, thoughts still trained on his mortal enemy.

Francis absentmindedly trailed off into a conversation with himself in French, ignoring the fact that his cousin was still in existence (walking right next to him, actually). Matthew didn't mind, seeing as this was normal, but still watched his feet instead of the road in front of him.

Which was exactly what caused him to run into the very person he'd been dreading.

"Mattie!" Gilbert greeted him with the strange accent he loathed oh-so-much and a ridiculous smile. A rough punch to his arm followed soon after.

Seriously, what the _actual fuck _compelled Gilbert to give him a nickname?

* * *

Gilbert mentally slapped himself for not remembering Francis's cousin.

What was he thinking, punching him like that in front of him?

Francis was _very _protective of his little Matthew, always dragging along on their outings. Matthew never seemed to enjoy this, and the reason was most likely because Gilbert was usually there. Deep inside his heart, he felt bad. But what difference would it make to a quiet little Canadian? None. Absolutely none. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

He laughed (others thought it sounded more like a hiss). "C'mon, Mattie, you weren't supposed to fall down!" He stuck out his palm to the boy on the sidewalk. After hesitating, Matthew reluctantly took it.

"Gilbert! Don't hurt mon petit Mattieu!" he scolded as he hugged a very flustered Matthew. "What did he ever do to you?"

"Whatever, Francis. Matthew doesn't mind - do ya, Mattie?"

Matthew pushed himself out of his cousin's arms, and looked at Gilbert. Almost immediately after doing do, he gave a small whimper, but managed to cover it up with an "O-o-okay."

Well, that was certainly reassuring. Gilbert open his mouth to say something and shatter the silence but an Spaniard beat him to it. Very loudly.

"¡Amigos!" he shouted as he wrapped his arms around the three boys. He released the and took a step back. "Why aren't you guys in the park yet? It's like, right across the street." he said.

"I... don't know." Gilbert said slowly. "Whatever, let's go."

* * *

**Gilbert would be some violent albino loser. Just think about it.**

**Also, review.**


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